The Persistence of Memory | ✔

08

"No, Mr. Fearnley, I don't. I just need to know if there are other instances of you having odd memories. When did you recall having gone home?"

"They—my memories about it from before—always felt wrong, and I'd get these headaches when I thought about that day. And then, a couple days ago things were clearer, only I didn't know what to do about it," Fearnley said after a moment of thought. "I still don't. I-I don't know why I called you."

"I'm glad you did," Nina said. "And this must all be confusing for you, but I promise, I will do everything I can to help. We'll get to the truth." Nina probably shouldn't have said that. A part of her screamed at her to stop, to not make any promises that she might not be able to keep. But she knew she had to give the man on the other end of the line something to hold onto. Some small hope to keep him from collapsing.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Fearnley said, voice sounding defeated—resigned to whatever fate awaited him. "Just, can you give my daughter a message? Tell her I'm sorry. It's her birthday next week." Fearnley's voice cracked, the pain in it raw. "I'm sorry."

Fearnley hung up, the click of it echoing around the room as Nina sat there, unmoving. She could still hear his voice, pained and much too brittle as he recounted what he'd done—or what he thought he'd done. It made Nina's chest tighten as a wave of sadness swept over her.

She sat there for a while longer, just until her overworked mind snapped back together. The things Fearnley had said—what he'd trusted Nina enough to confide to her—painted a clearer picture, even as she began to fear what the truth might really be.

Before she could really consider those things, there was something else that she needed to find out. After all, she had a message to pass along and no idea who Fearnley's daughter might be. Fearnley had hung up before Nina got a chance to ask, and none of the things she'd looked up about Fearnley had mentioned him having a daughter.

Maybe the girl lives with her mom, Nina thought, recalling Fearnley's estranged wife. She remembered the picture of a smiling woman in a wedding dress she'd seen in Fearnley's apartment, a wide smile that reached her eyes and made her look brighter spread across her face—tried to think of anything else she might have seen in that place that could hint at Fearnley's daughter.

And then, she remembered a calendar hanging on a kitchen wall. The small squares on it were filled with Fearnley's messy writing, reminders cramped together. Katie's Birthday, one of them had read, and Nina remembered wondering who Katie could be.

"It's her birthday next week," Fearnley had told Nina just minutes earlier, sounding absolutely shattered at the thought of not being with her on that day.

"His daughter's name is Katie," Nina said in a soft voice, the pieces coming together. Not wasting any more time, Nina began searching for the girl.

As it turned out, finding Katie Fearnley proved to be a far more difficult task than Nina first thought. There were no records of her as far as Nina could see. Not even an account on social media, much less an address. She would be, if Nina had to guess, starting college, judging by Fearnley's age and the amount of time since he'd married and divorced. Still, Nina could find no trace of her, no matter how much she scoured the lists of young graduates from local high schools, and later middle schools.

Maybe she took on her mother's name, she thought. It wasn't so uncommon, particularly at the time. More and more women had become reluctant to shed their name after marriage, some passing them on to their children. If Fearnley had divorced his wife, perhaps their daughter had taken her mother's name. Or maybe she did so after her father was jailed.

That was a possibility, the girl wanting to distance herself from her father in the wake of all the attention the case was garnering. Nina might have gone with that theory, but it just seemed wrong. Fearnley loved his daughter, Nina wanted to think she might love him just as much—that she wouldn't abandon him. Not to mention, that still wouldn't explain the lack of records on her.

I'll have to ask her mother, Nina thought. She'd been reluctant to speak to the woman, knowing from past experience that someone in her position wouldn't be so willing to talk to a reporter. There were already more than enough people trying to snag an interview with her, after all. Nina would have to think of a way to get the woman to listen to what she had to say and, hopefully, answer her questions.

Nina considered her options as she sat there, Fearnley's voice still ringing in her ears and the picture of a smiling bride flashing in her head. She briefly caught a slight hint of lavender in the air and wondered if she was going mad. The thought came easily enough that Nina was almost amused by it. With a sigh, she leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, attempting to let them rest for a second, only to have Alice's piercing stare cross her thoughts. Her eyes opened in an instant and Nina knew couldn't afford to sit around and think for any longer. She needed a distraction.

Thankfully, delivering Fearnley's message provided the perfect one.

After not finding any other solution—at least, one that didn't require her to get any of her friends involved—Nina opted for the more straightforward approach. Even if she knew it would be a difficult one. The number she dialed was one she didn't know, one she'd had to dig up, and with each new number she entered, she wondered if anyone would even pick up the call. Each ring dragged on for much too long, and with every second that passed Nina considered hanging up. She considered letting the person on the other end of the line have just a bit more peace. Before she could hang up, the call was picked up.

"Hello?" The voice was hesitant, cautious. Nina knew there was reason for it to be so.

"Hello, Ms. Avila? I'm calling about your ex—"

"Are you a reporter?"

The question took Nina by surprise, though she should have expected something like that. Sarah Avila sounded cautious but, above all else, she sounded tired. Her soft voice was weighed down by the exhaustion that only someone going through an emotionally trying time could know.

"No, I'm not," Nina lied, convincing herself that she wasn't truly acting as a journalist at that particular moment. This had nothing to do with hunting down a story. It was all about connecting the threads to find the answer to what was in her head.

"Are you with the police then?"

"No, I'm just trying to pass on a message from Mr. Fearnley," Nina said before the other woman could cut her off. "You don't need to answer any questions if you don't want to. I'd just like for you to listen for a second. Please." She was still hoping Sarah would be more amenable to answering some things, but Nina wasn't holding her breath for that.

"What's the message?" Sarah asked after a moment. That note of caution she'd had from the start was still in her voice, but it seemed softer now.

"It's for your daughter, he wanted to apologize for missing her birthday." Nina felt more relieved than she would have thought at having successfully delivered the message, however indirectly. When Sarah didn't say anything for a while, Nina wondered if the idea of Fearnley keeping his daughter in his thoughts had truly affected her so much. "I'm sorry, this must be difficult for you," Nina started.

"No, it's not that," Sarah cut her off, sounding puzzled. "Are you sure that's what Chris' message? Did he say anything else?"

"He didn't, why?" Nina asked, her own sense of confusion rising. Sarah paused, hesitating. Nina heard her take a breath to compose herself.

"We don't have a daughter."

- - - - - - - - - 

Hey everyone! Here's a brand new chapter for you all, hope it's good, haha. Please vote and/or comment if you can, and thank you all for checking out my work! Next chapter will be up on Friday. 

Have a great weekend!